Shrapnel

It was unclear what invoked this detonation,
The world has many stray matches,
A look,
A word,
A revelation,
But erupt it did nonetheless,

All I can glimpse is burning confetti,
Metal shards of a man,
Sharp as a tongue of a soul in pain,
The heat feels like tar on the skin,
As if I can touch the heartache in its mucus,
Munitions from a heart and mind imploded,

But observe,
Those piles of singed petals and broken glass,
That is what it looks like,
When a life becomes shrapnel,
Reduced to a sorry wreckage,
No phoenix here.